


Heaven, Interrupted

by Engineerd



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Damian Wayne is Robin, Damian learns acrobatics from the Flying Graysons, and dead, despite this its mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 10:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineerd/pseuds/Engineerd
Summary: “Grandmother,” Damian said, “Grandfather. I must be dead.”





	Heaven, Interrupted

Damian woke up groggily, sleepily groping for the blankets he must have kicked off as he tried to decipher exactly where he had fallen asleep. The last thing he remembered was - 

And then suddenly he was wide awake, adrenaline surging, because the last thing he remembered was the Heretic driving his sword through Damian’s - 

“Calm down, dear,” a voice said. Damian looked around wildly, but all he could see was white, spots floating around like the impressions you get on the back of your eyelids. “You are-”

“Where are the others?” Damian interrupted. He attempted to turn his head but couldn’t tell if he was succeeding or not, he couldn’t even tell which direction the voice was coming from. “Where is Nightwing? Where’s Batman?” 

“Your family is completely safe, dear,” the voice said. 

If possible, Damian tensed even more. He wasn’t wearing his Robin costume, but rather a plain tunic favored by the League he’d worn a lot growing up. It was mobile, but didn’t have any secret weapons. “Then where are they?”

“Your family will explain everything to you, if that is your choice.”

They were always better together. “Yes, take me to them,” Damian snapped. Anything was better than this disembodied nonsense, anything-

Damian dropped slightly onto a hardwood floor, the white mist around him dissolving quickly into a background he knew intimately - the manor! He was in the front entryway, with the coat closet just around the corner to the left and the grand staircase in the center of the room, leading up to the portrait of his grandparents on the landing -

Damian frowned. There was no portrait of his grandparents on the landing. Instead, there seemed to be a very three-dimensional Thomas and Martha Wayne running down the stairs. Damian took a step backwards as they halted in front of him, Martha looking apprehensive, Thomas looking stoic, excited maybe.

He looked from them to the other, smaller changes around the house. He couldn’t detect any remnants of the security system. Pennyworth’s coat rack was gone. The grandfather clock that hid the secret entrance to the Batcave was missing. His deceased grandparents were cautiously standing in front of him. 

“Damian,” Martha said carefully, giving him a small, watery smile. “I’m Martha Wayne, and this is my husband, Thomas. We’re your grandparents.”

He stared at them and nodded, trying to swallow even though his mouth had suddenly gone completely dry. This could be an elaborate trick, but - 

_ Heretic, driving his sword through Damian’s chest -  _

Damian tore his thoughts away from the memory, even has his right hand rose unconsciously to cover his heart. “Grandmother,” he enunciated, and then turned to Thomas. “Grandfather. I must be dead.”

 

* * *

 

Thomas and Martha Wayne’s corner of heaven was the Wayne Manor as it existed in the late 1970s. 

“Do you two always live together?” Damian asked curiously as they sat down for dinner after their brief introductory tour of the afterlife. “I was under the impression that marriage is traditionally dissolved after death.”

“Not always,” Thomas answered, serving Damian a bowl of some sort of mashed potatoes and stew. “But we generally do. We especially wanted to be here to welcome you, as your closest relatives.”

“Thank you,” Damian said, accepting the dish. Most of his relatives on his mother’s side were immortal or hundreds of years removed, if they even ended up in the same “heaven” he did. “Your presence is reassuring.” He scooped up a spoonful of mashed potatoes when a thought occurred to him. “Did you have practice with my father, when he was briefly deceased last year?”

Martha sighed. “We’ve never seen Bruce, dear. His time-shard hopping wasn’t enough to send him our way.”

“Brucie is still young,” Thomas said. “He was just younger than you last time we saw him in person, Damian. You’re practically identical.”  

Thomas and Martha were both also relatively young - they’d been in their mid-40s when they’d died. Not terribly older than Father, who seemed to be an even mix of both his parents. Damian could see the family resemblance. “Oh,” Damian said. “Well, good for Father.”   


“We tried to meet your brother a few times, but it never worked out.” Martha said casually. “It’s a shame. Jason was a good boy.”

Damian snorted. “Todd is a giant brute with the moral compass of a..” he trailed off as he caught the look on Martha’s face, and very quickly noted which side of the family Father got his intimidating stare from. “This potato dish is very good. What is it?”

“Stomppot,” Thomas said. “It’s Dutch. We tried it in Amsterdam when we went a few weeks ago.” 

“It’s glorified bangers and mash,” Marsha teased. “But your grandfather loves it.”

“I’m a man of simple pleasures, Martha,” his grandfather said. “Damian, did you know that your grandmother was the sophisticated one in the family? She was the acting CEO of the Enterprises in her time.”

“The acting CEO these days is my brother Timothy Drake,” Damian said glumly, spearing his mashed potatoes with more force than strictly necessary. 

“I knew Timothy’s grandparents,” Martha said. “Esoteric, but they had a great eye for risky ventures. A Drake backing a company meant it was almost always a success.”

“I’m glad the Enterprises are in good hands, then,” Thomas said. “That means us Wayne men can focus on other things. I was a surgeon, you know.”

Martha smiled teasingly. “Almost as impressive as being the world’s greatest detective. Damian, you can still learn about business up here, you know. You don’t have to limit yourself.”

Damian watched as his grandparents continued to brag about their accomplishments and the ones of their family. To be honest, it reminded him a lot of his childhood, when his mother and grandfather al Ghul would sit down and go over their family history. It was nice, Damian supposed. 

 

* * *

 

“You’re allowed to create your own heaven whenever you like, Damian,” Thomas explained one day, while showing Damian his collection of bicycles he enjoyed riding. “But usually it’s customary for children to stick with groups. Relatives, usually, but Neverland is also popular.” 

“Very well,” Damian said. “If it is alright with you, Grandfather, I shall remain here until I am 18.”

Thomas coughed awkwardly. “Ah, Damian, people don’t really age here in heaven.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “It is unfortunate that I will not physically age, but I am still experiencing the passage of time, or something very close to it, yes? I can still learn things, and I can always…” he searched for the phrase Richard sometimes liked to tote out. “...grow as a person.”

“It’s tough with children,” Thomas said simply. “Always heartbreaking with the young.”

Although less than his other grandfather, Thomas Wayne was also condescending. “I chose to be Robin,” Damian snapped. “I knew the risks. I lived defending others, and I died with honor to save my family. There is nothing to be sad about in an honorable death. I ended up in heaven, for goodness’ sake!”    

Thomas was still looking at him forlornly. “I’ll look into seeing if there are other 11-year-olds around here you could relate to,” Thomas said. “Actually, now that I think about it, there are a lot of people who would be interested in seeing you.”

A whole host of Wayne ancestors, most likely. “That would be acceptable,” Damian said icily. Days were long and slow in heaven, with no one being in a particular rush to get things accomplished. It grated against his internal schedule, but Thomas and Martha had dismissed this feeling as being common in the “newly arrived.”

“Great,” Thomas said. “I’ll set it up.”

 

* * *

 

Although one didn’t strictly have to sleep in heaven, it was another habit Damian was accustomed to, so he took a short nap in the back pasture were Batcow spent a lot of her time in present-day back on earth. 

He woke up and experienced a sensation he would have described as a heart attack, if he still depended on a literally beating heart, because he blinked open his eyes and saw- 

“GRAYSON?” Damian screeched, jerking upright and blinking furiously to clear his vision. “You can’t be dead! Richard John Grayson, if you went and got yourself killed less than a fortnight after my own demise-” his voice broke embarrassingly, and his eyes were spontaneously somehow getting wet. 

“Easy there, Robin,” the man said, placing his hands on Damian’s shoulders, his voice much deeper than Richard’s. Damian sagged a little, bringing his heads up to rub his eyes before blinking up at the man who’d interrupted his nap. 

He wasn’t Richard, but the resemblance was striking. “Why do you call me that?” Damian asked, still too shaken to do more than weakly shrug off the man’s grip. “Who are you, and what are you doing on my family’s property?”

The man smiled easily, the familiarity to Grayson’s smile sending chills up Damian’s spine. “I am a Grayson, but no the one you’re thinking of.” He stuck out a hand for Damian to shake. “John George Grayson, at your service.”

Damian frowned slightly as he accepted the handshake. “Richard’s father.”

“One and the same,” John agreed. 

“You’re barely older than he is,” Damian remarked, scrutinizing Richard’s father up and down and trying to remember all the information he could from the Grayson file. John Grayson, who had died when Richard was only 8 years old. Member of the Flying Graysons, had most likely also been raised in the circus. 

John Grayson withdrew his hand and laughed self-consciously. “Yeah, I guess we had him kind of young,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We called him Dickie back then, you know. He was a charmer.”

“I have no doubt,” Damian murmured, glancing around. “Where is Richard’s mother? Don’t tell me she’s not here?”

“Well, she’s not  _ here,  _ here,” John said unhelpfully. “She’s doing a performance. Me and Mary still do the circus route up here, give people a show. It’s a helluva lot less expensive in heaven than it was on earth, believe you me. And we’ve got the whole extended family - I could bow out for one act when your grandpop reached out to me. If you want meet Mary, I’ll bring her by. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

Damian lifted his head curiously. “Do you still have a schedule?”

John smiled. “Of course we still have a schedule! Even if equipment seems to move itself up here, people don’t, and a good act takes training no matter what state of matter you’re in.” 

“I want to see every single one of your shows,” Damian said seriously. 

John laughed and ruffled Damian’s hair with the back of his knuckles, making Damian squawk with indignation. “Oh, kiddo,” he said. “I can see why Dickie likes you so much. He’s told us so much about you.”

Damian stilled. “You can communicate with Richard?” 

John grimaced. “Well, not exactly. Sometimes you can just hear people if they’re talking to you. It takes a lot of practice, so don’t worry about it. I’ve found it helps if people are talking to your headstone, so I think one of the conditions is that people have to accept you’re really dead.” 

“Oh,” Damian said, feelings mixed. On one hand, no one had been talking to him, or his grave (which was still strange to think about). On the other, Damian himself was still reasonably convinced that someone would find a way to bring him back to earth, so he couldn’t fault anyone for not giving up. 

(It had only been two weeks. Todd had taken years to return back to life, and if Jason Todd could do it, so could Damian.)

(Todd also swore that nothing happened between his death and his resurrection, and Damian was decidedly in heaven.)

John Grayson seemed to pick up on Damian’s melancholic turn of thought, because he poked Damian in the cheek and said, “Hey, don’t hurt yourself in there. Too much thinking’s not good for anyone. I’m no Dickie, but how about we do some handsprings and stuff, instead? You like physical stuff like that, right?”

“Of course I- JOHNATHON!” Damian screamed as Richard’s father heaved Damian off the ground and settled the squirming boy into a seat on his shoulders. “I see now where Richard gets his lack of personal boundaries!”

“It’s just John,” he said, wrapping his hands tight around Damian’s ankles as he strolled across the grass. “Come on, I haven’t held a kid this way in forever. None of the other Graysons are your age, and I mean, we’re practically family.”

Even John’s hair looked a lot like Richard’s from the top. An idea struck Damian, then. “In that case, I have a proposition for you, Uncle John.”

“A proposition, eh?” John said, sounding amused. “I can be Uncle John.”

“I wish to continue my physical training,” Damian said. “However, I doubt any of the Waynes are qualified or have the interest. Thus, it would be most logical to apprentice myself to you, as you are a family friend and have proven yourself capable of training the world’s leading acrobats.” He stared down at the elder Grayson. “Richard is still said to be the greatest in the world, you know.”

“You want to train with the Flying Graysons?” John asked, finding an apparently acceptably level stretch of ground and lowering Damian back down again. “We don’t let in just anybody.”

Damian stuck his hands on his hips. “I am Richard Grayson’s brother. Is that not all the qualifications I need?”

John laughed - a full, belly laugh, like the ones that Grayson would only do if he was particularly tired or inebriated. “I can’t argue with that,” he said. “Alright, kid. Show me what you got!”

 

* * *

 

While Damian got the feeling his grandparents were vaguely puzzled by the Graysons, they were supportive of their offer to entertain Damian for several hours each day, as long as Damian was home for dinner. The stricter schedules of the days were a relief for Damian, and training was satisfying - although moves were still difficult to accomplish and unlike most of what Damian had been training for his entire life, his muscles never got sore and his skin never bruised, no matter how far he fell. 

There were about thirty Flying Graysons in total, spanning back about seven generations, the last few of which were Romani from either Wales or Spain. Damian was definitely the youngest - the second closest to his age was Richard’s fourth cousin Mitchell, who had been murdered at 17 years old back in the 1940s - which means he was immediately volunteered to be thrown from one trapeze to the next between all sorts of members. 

“It’s not all bad,” Mitchell told Damian, sneaking him a soda. “You don’t have to be strict about a diet, cuz you’ll never really change size. Also, acrobats aren’t supposed to be tall, so your frame is kind of perfect.”

“Thank you, Grayson,” Damian acknowledged. 

When Damian wasn’t training or travelling and exploring all sorts of heavens with the Flying Graysons, he spent time meeting with his other ancestors, or people within the superhero community. 

Lian Harper lived with her grandparents, too; she’d been dead for about two years, and had only been six when she died. Like Grandfather Thomas had alluded to, she didn’t seem to have aged at all. 

“My grandparents don’t really like to shoot,” she said, taking turns with Damian’s on her little homemade archery range. She’d insisted on making it herself, her own little corner of heaven, and as a result it was a slightly sloppy reality. Damian accepted it anyways. “But my dad’s a superhero, and I wanna be like him.”

“My father is Batman,” Damian answered her, and pulled his own shot. It landed about an inch left of center, but Damian wasn’t sure where that was his own fault or that of the crooked target. “Trust me, I understand.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lian said. “I keep forgetting. It’s too bad there’s no superheros up here.”

“Don’t worry, I’m going to keep practicing with you anyways,” Damian assured her. “Do you think Robin Hood will have heard of me? He’s a namesake of mine, you know.”

After a few months, Damian demanded the Graysons teach him their signature move, the quadruple somersault, despite their warnings that it was too difficult. “Oh, come on, Aunt Mary,” Damian begged, pulling out his best whiny-Richard impression. “I just want to be part of the family. Please, please, please, please?”

Richard’s mother was a slight brunette, young and strikingly beautiful. She was a fan of children and challenges. “It’ll be very frustrating for you, Damian,” she warned. “You haven’t been trained for this.”

“I’ve been doing nothing but gymnastics for months,” Damian said. “I’m prepared to try my best.”

She stared at him, frowning, although her gaze seemed distant. “What?” Damian asked. 

Mary shook herself. “Sorry, it’s not you, Robin.” All the Graysons called him Robin. Aside from -   “It’s Richard.” 

Damian froze. “What about Richard?”

Mary pursed her lips. “He’s speaking to me. He’s having a bit of a bad week.” She tilted her head. “He blames himself for your death, and it’s wearing on him.”  

“Well, that’s ridiculous,” Damian said. “Richard didn’t stab me through the chest. It was no one’s fault but my clone’s.” He reconsidered. “And perhaps my mother, for creating the clone.”

Mary reached out and rubbed his arm. All the Graysons were very loose with the idea of personal space. “She can’t hurt you now.”

“I know,” Damian answered. “Besides, I have you now, Aunt Mary. You’re going to teach me the family quadruple somersault.”

She sighed. 

“Uncle John said it couldn’t be done,” Damian added. 

Mary sat up straighter. “Well, then. In that case, we definitely have to do it.”

And so Damian studied with his grandparents, and trained with the Graysons, and planned to track down the original Robin Hood with Lian, until - 

 

* * *

 

Damian woke up clutched in his weeping father’s arms. “Damian,” Father sobbed, clutching him to his chest. “My son. You’re alive. I love you so much, son.” 

Despite gravity being slightly heavier and the over-loud thurmping of his once-punctured heart roaring in his ears, Damian was not unhappy with this turn of events.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Damian was told Grayson had died in his absence, but as Grayson was not in heaven with the rest of his family, he knew this to be a lie. He decided not to question it for the time being. He also decided not to go out of his way to mention heaven to anyone, sticking to Todd’s story of not being aware of anything between his death and resurrection. 

Speaking of Todd, he respected Damian a lot more now that he had also died on the job. “Welcome to the Dead Robins Society,” he joked when he saw Damian again. “Members include me, you, and technically Steph, even though she was only dead for a few minutes.”

“As long as there’s no Drake,” Damian demanded. 

“Course not, he ain’t dead,” Todd replied. Drake sighed loudly in the background.

Of course, just because Damian didn’t reveal what had happened in heaven, didn’t mean his training wasn’t put to good use. “Damn, Robin,” Batgirl commented one night when they were out on patrol. “You’re practically flying tonight.”

Damian smirked. “I am the best Robin, as well as Nightwing’s protege. Don’t forget.”

“I see death hasn’t harmed your confidence,” Batgirl said. “I’m allowed to make jokes like that, I’m in the DRS.”

“Technically,” Damian pointed out. 

Grayson returned from his long-term deep cover mission after several months. They ran into each other seemingly by accident while Damian was on a mission in a small village in Europe.   

Grayson stopped still once he caught sight of Damian on the opposite side of the square, his expression bursting with shocked happiness. “Damian! You’re alive?”

And even though he knew Grayson wasn’t dead, he’d missed him anyways. More than expected. “You’re alive!” Damian shouted back, excitement radiating through his own chest, as he took off in the direction of his favorite brother. There was some debris and a medium-sized stone wall in the way, so Damian just vaulted over them, flipping - 

_ One, two, three, four times  _

-into Grayson’s waiting arms. 

“Holy cow, Damian!” Grayson explained, crushing him to his chest. “That was a quadruple somersault!”

“It was?” Damian crowed, squeezing Grayson back. “Aunt Mary! Uncle John! I did it!”

Grayson jerked Damian away reflexively. “Little D, that was my ear! Who are you shouting at?”

“You parents,” Damian answered. “I met them when I died, and they taught me acrobatics. They miss you almost as much as I did.”

“They - you - ” Grayson stammered incredulously, and then seemed to digest the sentence. “You missed me more than my parents?”

“Of course,” Damian said. “After all, they can hear you when you talk to them, and you seemed to talk to them quite a bit from what it looked like.”

Grayson laughed and hugged Damian again. “I missed you too, baby bro.”

“You look extraordinarily like your father,” Damian commented, hugging back. “And your personality seems like both your parents. Your entire family acts a lot like you, actually.”

Grayson finally set him back down. “Huh. So they adopted you, then?”

“Not really,” Damian answered. “The Waynes were just all scholars, you know, slightly boring. They haven’t seen any combat since the Revolutionary War. I had to bargain with the Flying Graysons to let me join, they were the interesting ones.”

Richard raised an eyebrow. “You joined the Flying Graysons?”

“Yes!” Damian said, putting his hands on his hips proudly and puffing out his chest. “It was your acceptance of me that got me in.”

“Then I want to hear all about it,” Grayson said, clapping a hand on Damian’s shoulder. 

“Deal.” Damian beamed up at him. “Technically, since I joined and I can do the flip, I’m a Flying Grayson now. You’re not the last one anymore.”

“Oh, yeah?” Grayson questioned him gently, smiling back. 

“Yes,” he answer emphatically. “I’ll be your family now, Richard.” 

  
  


_ (And they all lived happily ever after. The End) _

  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> It's not my best work, but somehow I still like it? I dunno, let me know what you guys think. Thanks!


End file.
